Inked
by ingeniousmacabre
Summary: It started with a fountain pen. And ended with a kiss. (But nobody needs to know that.) Started as a one-shot. Not anymore.
1. This is what happened

It started with a fountain pen.

It totally did, and she regrets nothing.

It happened when he fell asleep on her lap, while she stayed awake for her movication (he was later to blame the compounding assignments his professors gave him when he was fixing the Treble set for the regionals) and she had been totally interested with The Lord of the Rings too, really. Legolas was hot. Riding an elephant? Super hot.

(She's totally going to tell him that when he wakes. No one can top Orlando Bloom's elephant-riding hotness.)

But there he was, head on her lap, snoring (they got into a fight once about his fantastically _horrendous_ snores), one hand beneath the bend of her knee as though her kneecaps were the best pillows ever. (It tickles, but whatever.)

Of course, Beca (the little devil that she is) decides that this is the perfect, _perfect_ time to harvest some blackmail material for future use. So she looks around his dorm, careful not to fidget too much. The closest thing to a writing material that she can find is his fountain pen. Ah, but it will do.

...

It started with a fountain pen.

_His_ fountain pen, if he may add.

(Those things are _messy as hell._)

And he figures that it was just a matter of time, anyway, before she starts inking on his skin, one way or another. (Because he knows, even before they had been dating, that she is a little monster.)

So he takes it with all the grace that his momma had blessed him with. (It was horrible, but to be fair, she had been giggling about it for _weeks_, and he loves the sound of her laugh.)

He'll get her back somehow.

...

"So, I wanna try something."

She takes his arm while he's on his laptop, finishing his... (damnit, the feel of Beca's fingers sends his coherence flying out the window... what kind of paper is this again? Argumentative? Persuasive? Is there a difference?)... as he keeps on typing. It takes a lot of focus. Like, _a lot_.

He feels her use a pen, or something, on his skin as she starts drawing, tracing meaningless lines. No big deal. He's a grown man, he can take the ticklish feel of his girlfriend's sudden artistic impulse. He doesn't even look to see what she's doing because he is focused on writing his paper, damnit. (he's got to reserve _some_ of his dignity.)

But then, her nails are playfully riding up his arm. (Little monster.)

"You're distracting me." He doesn't turn away from the glow of his screen. Nope. (He does smirk, though. He knows where this is headed.)

"Oh, sorry. Are you _distracted_?" He hates that her voice gets that little twang of sarcasm _just right_ to turn him on.

"Bec, I need to finish this."

Pause.

"Okay."

Just like that, she gets up from her place on his bed and leaves (_wait, no no no._..), and Jesse near shits himself from the suddenness of it all, when he glances at her right before she closes his door. Thank god, she's not pissed.

But she is, if he can tell correctly (and he can), very... smoky. (It's his own personal adjective for her.)

He takes a look at his arm, craning his head:

_Property of Beca Mitchell._

God, he loves this woman. But then, he sees her writing material: permanent marker.

(damnit.)

...

She loves his arms.

No, seriously. She might even be _in love _with his arms.

She would totally date his arms.

Like when they're wrapped around her tiny waste (and in a public place, no less). He's not even turned to her; he's talking to Benji on, like, a totally _away_-facing angle, but his arms are snaked around her. Like he's afraid she just might run off to LA at a moment's notice. Like he's afraid to let go. Like, it's his way of telling the world that she's his. She loves it.

(She doesn't show it, though. Like hell.)

So when she's pressed flush against him, his arms locking her in place against the small of her back, the length of her ribs, his mouth hot against the skin of her neck, her skin _burning_ like a million suns... or is it stars... she hasn't decided yet... she'll have to consult Jesse later about his word preferences.

(but his hands find their way to the most _amazing_ places and whoops. There go her pants.)

...

He moves with the grace of a gazelle.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Because when he sees her, and _oh, dear god,_ she is so gorgeous, he knows he's gotta bring his A-game. And no way will he be able to do that by rapping.

(He won't embarrass himself in front of her, thanks very much.)

So, he moves like a gazelle. And he knows, when her eyes turn straight to look at him, her smirk going on a whole new level of evil (like, _no shit_), he has to impress her.

Most of the time, he does. (That's him, being modest. More like,_ all the time._)

(His name screamed out in the middle of the night in the Treble house waking up half the squad with the _totally wrong_ image is evidence of that.)

...

This is not right.

It's not fair.

She is not a screamer, _goddamnit_.

But she just hates cockroaches. And she will never forgive him for finding that out. Because her badassery levels lower every time she falls for the same, stupid, rubber cockroach he bought from Benji. (She will have to confiscate those.)

"You... _asshole_!"

She hits him as he is laughing his ass off. (ugh.)

"God... I'm sorry... Bec, but... you're face..."

His bursts of laughter are more than she can take. So when she starts to get seriously annoyed, _he can tell_, and his arms (stupid, stupid arms) mover over to her waist when she tries to get up.

So she can't. (it's not like she ever wanted to in the first place.)

And he's not laughing anymore.

(he's actually pressing his mouth against hers and looking for purchase on her skin and pushing her down on the bed and making her so, so upset that he can do all this and make her groan _so effortlessly_. But nobody needs to know that.)

...

Especially not Fat Amy.

Dear _god_, please not Fat Amy.

"That was an eight on the Richter scale. The chandelier was swinging."

They come down from the upstairs bedroom, and Fat Amy is in the dining, eating pizza.

(Why is she even here?)

...

He loves her stomach.

Like... wait, no.

He's not even going to _wordify_ the sacredness that is his girlfriend's stomach.

She's a small, cold creature, and there is no pleasing her. He will not get a reaction from her by buying her flowers or stopping world hunger. There is simply no way.

Except, with her sexy stomach, apparently. (he learned this one afternoon.)

So when she's standing up and he's sitting down, and her tank top is a little too small for her (did they even make sizes _smaller_ than her?), and she yawns or moves or whatever and her unbelievably seductive skin shows...

(He is _so_ not distracted. Nope.)

But just like that (and he's not even sure how it happened), his mouth is on the skin of her stomach, hands demandingly grasping her waist, fingertips pressed hot against her pale skin... (and the sounds she makes... _heaven help him_.)

...

There are sounds that people will _never_ hear from Beca. Ever.

Those are for Jesse's ears only.

(Not even her past boyfriends... _did she just make that sound_? Good lord, she did.)

...

It's the hitch in her breath, really.

It's also the darkening of his horribly huge eyes.

(Seriously. He must be part-Furby.)

...

She hates his eyes.

There is no other word for it.

(But she also finds herself endlessly _fascinated_ by them. Another thing she will never admit to.)

Especially when they're glazed over with the shiny look of adoration that he usually reserves _for her._ And when they're directed to the inanimate object also known as the screen of his laptop...

(this is why she sometimes hates movication.)

"Can we do something else?"

He can feel her get fidgety, sitting on top of him, as they (he) watch Satine moan under the influence of Ewan McGregor's poetry. He shushes her.

(To annoy her. Because that's his MO.)

And when she sighs and tries to get off of him, he has to peel his eyes away from Nicole Kidman to briefly kiss the curve of her neck.

(Works all the time.)

But only for a moment. The next song is the best part.

...

"I hate you."

"I can't stand you."

They are both telling the truth. Because when they're great, they're unbelievably _amazing_. But when they're not, the foundations of the earth are shaken.

(The tension is coming off in waves, of course.)

So really.

They're both telling the truth.

She hates him. He can't stand her. She hates that he doesn't understand (how she will never find anyone else). He can't stand the sight of her (not being with him). There is too much anger in the room. It's going to explode.

And it does.

Again, neither one knows how it happened that they are now both a tangle of limbs. (Classic 'he says, she says', because like hell Beca is going to admit to jumping his bones right after a major fight.)

...

"Do you hate me?"

Her dark hair is spread across his chest, her body molded into his own. Her words are frighteningly close to raw. Her head is snug in the crook of his neck, her nose tickling his skin. Her heart in his hands as he unconsciously plays with her hair.

"I do," he says.

She snuggles closer.

(The warmth of her body is _intoxicating_.)

"I hate you too, nerd."

He presses a kiss to her forehead.

(Because those were complete and utter lies.)

...

So yeah.

It started with a fountain pen.

And ended with a kiss.

To a piece of Jesse's skin, where the name "Beca" will be forever inked.

(She will not let him get it removed.)

(Ever.)

(Because he is forever inked on her heart, too. This seems only fair.)

* * *

.:.

**Author's Note:**

I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I'm sorry.

CREDITS:

It totally started out as being inspired by the amazing one-shot, **i think about this girl all the time, **by _astins_. So yeeah. Beautiful, unique work by the author, right here. Go read it. It's free.

(And if you've read any of my works, I do this thing wherein I fangirl about other works and authors. I'm sorry, okay.)

(ps. Thank you for reading. Like, seriously.)


	2. This is how it started

It started with a fountain pen.

Well, not exactly. It started with the Lord of the Rings... or maybe it started with Kolio and the guys... or was it Donald...

Doesn't matter where it started. All that Jesse Swanson knows is that he woke up this morning in the middle of the quad, _shirtless_, and... _boxer-less _beneath his pants_, _apparently.

And let's not forget his girlfriend's name tattooed on his upper buttocks.

Beca.

(That little...)

But wait a minute, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's rewind back a few weeks ago...

...

_THURSDAY_

_"That still only counts as one!"_

Beca hears Gimli say from the screen, as she stifles a short squeak from Legolas' trunk-surfing skills. She needs to get herself an elf. That was... hot.

(Blond, British guys with long, straight hair? Bring it on.)

"Hey, do you think we could—"

She tries to tell him of her elf-ideas (she would joke him to grow his hair and dye it platinum). He is lying on his side, his head on her lap facing the screen of the laptop, when he makes a snoring sound.

Sleeping? _Seriously?_

He had asked her to cancel out on a Bellas dinner just so the two of them could spend quality time together watching the extended version of the _whole_ trilogy, _goddamnit_. Who does he think he is?

(Okay, so she's not really _that_ mad. But she needs an excuse to be.)

She feels his fingers gently curl underneath the bend of her knees, as he snuggles his face on her legs. Her _legs_. Great. Now, she can't even move because he's sleeping, and she might wake him. And she knows that he needs to sleep, because he's been tired all throughout the week.

But then, she gets a super great idea.

It must've been the creative pull of Orlando Bloom's face on the laptop screen, but she gets excited when she looks for something that will leave a mark, and she sees his fountain pen.

Aw, _yiss_.

Careful not to disturb her sleeping boyfriend, she gently tries to turn him around. His fingers tighten underneath her kneecaps and she stifles a small yelp, because the bastard knows she's ticklish _right there_. But no matter. She will enjoy this.

He finally unbconsciously rolls a bit, now facing upward, eyes still closed, as he mutters something along the lines of "don't do it" in his sleep, and she has to bite back a smile.

Oh, she'll do it, alright.

Ever so slowly, she uncaps the fountain pen. It looks... weird. She hadn't exactly used one before, so she tries to draw a line on Jesse's nose with the tip. (His nose crinkles and it is adorable) The pen won't work. Huh. She shakes the pen a bit. Maybe the ink is old? Or maybe she has...

Whoops, there it is. She can see the black seeping from the long line across the tip.

Oh, so that's were the ink comes from. She shakes the pen some more, before gingerly placing the flat part against her boyfriends nose and drawing a...

Shit.

The sound that comes out of her is the most horribly-repressed snort she has ever made, because she didn't know that so much ink could spill from just one pen. And she needs to think about dead puppies or she will break out in hideous laughter and she might wake him.

"Bec..."

She hears him sleep-talk her name, and the smile that crawls up her mouth is genuine. Her nerd is _handsome_, okay, so she pauses to admire, before continuing to basically spill ink all over his face, her lip almost turning blue from how much she needs to bite down to keep from erupting in laguhter.

She needs to take visual evidence of this.

After properly desecrating his facial appeal (and he has a lot, but he's not gonna hear her say that), she takes her phone and tries to snap a picture.

She forgets to take out the flash.

So when his eyes flutter open, she sort of freaks and suddenly jumps.

"Whoa, my god..."

"Couldn't resist?" he groggily says, his mental faculties not quite awake yet. But he's conscious enough to see her biting back a smile and that's enough for him.

"You just... looked so peaceful..." she lies. _Oh, god. Hold the barricade, woman. Don't laugh. Don't give it away. You can do this._

"Mhmm. Can I see..."

He makes a lame move for her phone but she takes it out of his reach.

"No! It's... a surprise," she says, quickly looking at the resulting snapshot... and almost losing it.

Jesse has never had much self-control when it comes to surprises (especially ones that make his girlfriend _almost laugh_), so when she feels his other arm reach over around her waste, and his mouth is suddenly on the skin of her stomach, and his other hand has left her kneecap to join her wrist and...

"Dude! No!" She swats his hand as it almost takes her phone while she's distracted (goddamnit, he used the stomach kiss). Pushing his laughing face away from her, he rolls over to place a lazy kiss on her knees before fixing his position on the bed and tucking himself underneath both her legs. He knows her sleeping habits, and she probably won't feel drowsy until Frodo says goodbye to Sam. So he wraps them around him.

Settling himself under her knees, his arm draped over her leg, his thumb draws circles on her calves until he succumbs to sleep again.

(To the immense excitement of his girlfriend, who is now tweeting the picture.)

* * *

_FRIDAY_

Jesse awakes to an unusually cold bed, and frowns.

Where is his girlfriend?

He misses her waist in his arm, the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin, the _holy shit_.

He rolls around in his bed, turning, only to face his reflection on the open screen of his laptop. His face. His _face_. _What the hell happened to his face?! _It looks like a giant squid just mass dumped all over his face! What the—

Beca.

He closes his eyes and mentally chastises himself for falling in love with the reincarnation of evil.

He tries to clean it off with hand soap. And then regular soap. Shampoo, bath gel, toothpaste... fuck. At this rate, he'll have to get his face acid bleached.

Oh, she is so dead.

That is, until he sees a small bottle of baby oil by his laptop, with a sticky note attached:

_To my darling nerd,_

_Sorry. I hope you can forgive me. _

_(nope not sorry at all)_

_:) - B_

Call him a hopeless romantic, but he was truly hoping that, the day his girlfriend would leave him a sticky note calling him her "darling nerd" and asking for forgiveness, it would be something of a big issue. Like, I-need-to-put-this-on-our-future-scrapbook-for-memories thing. But this?

He hopes to _god_ this doesn't make it to their future scrapbook. Or any scrapbook, for that matter. In fact, let there be no evidence of this having ever happened...

And then he recalls how he woke up last night. To the blinding white flash of her phone.

(damnit.)

...

The Trebles would then trend the hashtag #StillNotAsBadAsJessesFace. He didn't go on Twitter for weeks, until it finally died down.

He will get her back, somehow. He's just waiting for the right... outfit.

* * *

**AN: **A brief interlude from writing the next chapters of HT.

Is this... fluff? Does this count? Help me out here, I don't know what fluff is. I don't even know what I'm doing with this story... No promises, though. :)

(Inspired by my need to watch 21 and Over.)


End file.
